


The Thought of You

by prince0froses



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prince0froses/pseuds/prince0froses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the haze of a dream, Steve is taken by Loki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thought of You

**Author's Note:**

> NC-17. Steve Rogers/Loki. For norsekink prompt "Steve having sex dreams about Loki." The actual prompt called for follow up, all I delivered was the dreamsex. Inspired by Slow Love Slow by Nightwish.

The world he is in remains held together by strands of wistfulness and fuzzy logic, spinning around the peripheral corners of his vision. He is sitting naked in a nightclub, which his mind tells him is the Stork Club even though it looks nothing like the place, the stage is in the wrong corner and the walls are paneled with ice cream for some reason. He wonders why Tony Stark is on the piano while a tall furry creature next to him plucks a walking baseline, but when he calls to his friend the bandleader doesn't respond. By their heads, trumpets play themselves, a sultry haunting melody wailed into the night. The club is packed with empty chairs at empty tables, Steve the only patron, and the silence of the place unsettling above the music.  
  
On the stage, back to him, stands a pale, lithe figure in a red dress, the cloth draped over her shimmering as if it were made from a field of rubies pressed into cloth, then dripped over the alabaster skin like a river of wine. Though sculpted and fine, the form before him is supple, not curvy, and he wonders at how little it surprises him that the singing voice is deep, too deep for a dame, a low purr that travels straight from his ears to his cock. Steve's tongue darts out to coat his lips as the starlet turns to reveal the deep emerald eyes of the God of Lies. Truly, there is something so perfectly wrong with the world's most sinful lips smirking at him painted crimson, mouthing the words to some long-forgotten tune as Loki slinks off the stage.  
  
The chair Steve is pressed back into gives, soft and suddenly a bed, and the beauty atop him presses a gloved fingertip to his mouth. The club vanishes, the surroundings nothing more than a midnight blue mist as Loki's lying lips wrap themselves around Steve's pulsing length. The underlying current of how _off_ these events are is swept irretrievably upstream by Steve's gasping cries as his hips roll up into Loki's mouth. With a long lick, Loki releases Steve, the chuckle escaping the god floating thickly in the air between them. Loki runs his fingertips over Steve's bare chest, the cool satin gloves making small hairs stand on end.  
  
When Loki speaks, Steve finds his mind thinking nothing of its own, parroting back the silken words. "Captain Rogers...so soft, so pure...waiting all this time unspoiled just for me to defile. A pillar," Loki gives Steve's cock a firm squeeze "Of heroic virtue. No doubt, you would not be cruel to me, as others have been." Loki peels the gloves off, revealing long, slender fingers one by one, looking down at the spellbound hero bemusedly. "I wonder...do I love you, or the thought of you..."  
  
How Loki went from ungloved to suddenly, gloriously nude, Steve does not question. He cannot hold back; his thick, hungry hands travel over the squirming, slender body and Steve moans triumphantly at Loki's breathy sounds of pleasure at his rough touch. Loki does not humor him long; Steve feels a leaden weight holding him down at the chest. How Mjollnir came to be sitting there, or why he cannot budge it cease to matter as he feels an intrusion, then Loki's full length taking him. All he feels now is the ache to be filled, deeper, and his body presses downward in response.  
  
"Slow, love, slow," the words come with Loki's heated breath on the shell of his ear, and the truth of them pulses through his body, Loki thrusting in torpidly, measured not in inches but in staccato gasps. Their bodies smolder at their joining point, the lingering throb of flesh in flesh eclipsing all sensation. The fog of carnal bliss stretches on forever, but then there is nothing, nothing but laughter and green eyes and sweet white heat and  
  
-  
  
Steve shuddered, sat up, sweat streaming down his brow, pulse causing a thunder to rival Thor himself in his ears. His sheets stuck to his softening member, he pushed them aside, thick legs swung over the edge of the bed. He took stock of his surroundings, dream logic abandoning him, his empty bedroom answering back in silence. Realism assaulted his senses: the blinking digits of his alarm clock, the boozy snoring of Tony Stark down the hall, the electronic hum of central heating. Glumly satisfied to find no god in his bed, or even hiding in his closet, Steve laid back down, fondling himself absently and with an aching regret to fill him in place of his phantom lover. He covered his head with a pillow, trying not to think of the only words he would find at his lips when next they met Loki on the field of battle.  
  
"Do I love you, or the thought of you?"


End file.
